


Daisy

by wheel_pen



Series: Miscellaneous Sherlock Stories [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Daisy (wheel_pen), Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-16
Updated: 2015-05-16
Packaged: 2018-03-30 18:16:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3946804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wheel_pen/pseuds/wheel_pen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daisy is my original character who is mainly found in my Vampire Diaries stories. However she does tend to pop up other places, for her own mysterious reasons. In this case, she needs Sherlock’s help with something. A few scenes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Daisy

**Author's Note:**

> The bad words are censored. That’s just how I do things.
> 
> This story has not been Britpicked. Please let me know if I get anything horribly wrong.
> 
> I hope you enjoy this AU. I own nothing and appreciate the chance to play in this universe.

“—but did you really have to say, in front of everyone, that his wife was cheating on—“

“—he’s the one who made the boast about her, I was simply pointing out—“

“—it’s rude, and I really liked that restaurant—“

“Oh, Sherlock, dear!” Mrs. Hudson called as the two bickering men stomped up the stairs.

Sherlock didn’t respond; he was too frustrated, once again, by the evening’s outing. It didn’t used to bother him when he made social blunders; but now it bothered John, and for some reason _that_ bothered him. And he didn’t like that sensation. He was almost to the landing when he realized his landlady had spoken to him. “What?” he shot back in his usual brusque manner.

“Well, this young lady stopped by to see you, and—“

“Hang on, who are you?” he heard John say on the floor above, and he raced up the rest of the stairs in alarm, only to freeze in the doorway.

“—and I thought it would be alright to let her wait for you,” Mrs. Hudson finished, climbing more slowly up the stairs behind them.

Sherlock stood as if transfixed, staring at the woman who sat at his desk. John glanced between the two of them, trying to figure out if they knew each other and if she was a threat. She was young, perhaps only twenty, with dark skin and expensive, but understated, clothing. John didn’t know much about fashion, but he knew quality when he saw it, and everything from the woman’s snow white coat to her black heels and shiny red purse said she wanted nothing but the best.

“I hope that’s alright,” Mrs. Hudson finished behind them suddenly, and her voice seemed to break whatever spell was holding Sherlock in place.

“Yes, thank you,” he said, and abruptly shut the door in the older woman’s face, without taking his eyes off the visitor.

“Uh, Sherlock—“ John started to protest, but clearly it was pointless.

The woman stood then, her movements elegant, fluid. “I see your manners haven’t improved,” she remarked, with a sly smirk.

“Neither have yours,” he accused coldly. “Manipulating my landlady into letting you in to my flat? I can only imagine the snooping you’ve done—“ He glanced around as if he expected to suddenly notice papers and books strewn everywhere (or at least, in places _he_ hadn’t strewn them).

The woman did not dignify this with a response. Instead she turned her dark, chocolatey gaze on John. “You must be Dr. Watson,” she surmised with a smile, holding out her hand.

“Yes, that’s—“

Sherlock knocked his arm away before he could shake hands with her. “Don’t touch her!” he warned, sounding mildly hysterical, as though she were Typhoid Mary. The woman raised an eyebrow at John as if to say, what can you do? Then she sat back down at the desk and crossed her legs patiently.

“My name is Daisy—“ she began for John’s benefit.

“False!” Sherlock shouted as he started to pace the small living room furiously.

“Are you American?” John guessed from her accent.

“No!” Sherlock answered instead.

Daisy smiled tolerantly. “Sherlock and I were undergraduates together at Oxford,” she attempted to explain, despite interrupting huffs and growls.

Though now John was even more confused. “Sorry, when you were… ten or so?” he said delicately, finding this unlikely.

Daisy’s smile broadened as though he’d given her a compliment. “She’s older than she looks,” Sherlock snapped ungraciously. “ _Much_ older. What are you doing here?”

“I need your help,” Daisy replied simply, and Sherlock—predictably now—snorted in derision.

“ _You_ need _my_ help?” he scoffed. He stopped pacing and stared at her. “You’ve just come down from Norfolk. Why would you have been in Norfolk? What would have drawn you from your lair?”

John’s eyebrows shot up. “Um, sorry, lair?” he repeated, hoping someone would explain more.

But he should’ve known that was a futile hope. Sherlock’s deductive powers were in full swing now. “It must have been books,” he decided, moving swiftly to the nearest open laptop, which happened to be John’s. He tapped away on it with a vehemence that made its owner wince. “Ha!” he declared triumphantly, pointing to the screen, and John came around to look as he sprang back up.

“’Norfolk Bookseller Murdered,’” John read from the news story headline. So was this woman a concerned party, or a suspect? Or even the _actual_ murderer, from how Sherlock was acting.

Daisy merely drummed her fingers—perfectly manicured—on the desktop, as if bored with the pace of his reasoning. “So you went to Norfolk to buy a book,” Sherlock continued rapidly, “only you found the bookseller murdered and the book stolen. It must be something very important, dangerous even, in the wrong hands. And you want us to track it down for you,” he decided. He leaned on the desk accusatorially. “So the only question is—why didn’t you see this coming?”

That was _not_ the only question John had. But Daisy merely gave a little shrug and replied, “Nobody’s perfect.”

Sherlock was clearly unsatisfied with this answer and bounced away, continuing his train of thought. “Maybe it’s not so much the book you want, as the person who took it,” he deduced suspiciously. “But why not stop him yourself? Oh, he’s probably just a mere human, and you wouldn’t stoop to that level,” he commented with a sneer. “But if he builds up enough power he’ll become more than that, and you want to nip that in the bud, don’t you?”

“Uh, more than human?” John tried.

He was ignored. “Yes, you want to send _us_ after him first, let the mortals deal with their own so you don’t have to dirty your own hands,” Sherlock went on nonsensically, while Daisy regarded him passively. “Send _us_ chasing around the world to stop some mad man bent on global domination, while _you_ sit back and watch.”

Suddenly Daisy smiled. “Oh, Sherlock, I _love_ it when you do all the work,” she purred, and John didn’t think he was imagining the entendre in her tone. It seemed to catch his friend off-guard as well and Sherlock gaped at her uncomfortably. Then she stood. “Well, I look forward to seeing your resolution,” she said with finality, heading out the door.

“Wait a minute, we haven’t—“ John started to protest in confusion.

“How do you know I’ll take the case?!” Sherlock demanded over the railing. Daisy appeared to realize he was being rhetorical and walked out the front door without further comment.

Sherlock stalked back into the living room and began to pace again, while John read another news article about the bookseller’s murder, hoping to shed some light on the murky situation. “It must be more serious than she let on,” Sherlock finally judged. “She’s not usually so forthcoming.”

John stared at him, open-mouthed. “She hardly said anything!” he insisted.

Sherlock merely rolled his eyes at him. “Hurry up and pack a bag. There’s a train leaving for Norfolk in an hour.”

**

It was hard not to feel slightly humiliated as they were led through Gallo’s hideaway, with all his brutish minions staring at them mockingly. The great Sherlock Holmes (and friend) outwitted, outlasted, outplayed. John tried to put these strong yet foolish emotions aside, as he hoped Sherlock was doing, and look around for possible escape routes.

That was when he saw Daisy.

She stepped from the shadows, wearing an elegant sort of day dress and what he thought were referred to as ‘smart’ heels, and the brutish minions stepped aside as though they knew not to mess with her. “You!” John couldn’t help but stutter, pointless though it was. Sherlock froze as well, staring hard at her with a narrow, intense glare. Her look towards them in return was disdainful.

“Ah yes, your… friends,” Gallo commented in that affably evil way some villains had. “Why don’t you take them back to your room until I decide what to do with them?” Daisy turned without a word and walked away. “Follow the lady, please,” he prompted John and Sherlock. The brutish minions loomed eagerly, so they followed.

“Well done,” Daisy told them sarcastically when they caught up with her. She led them into a large, luxurious suite and shut the door, locking it from the inside.

“You’re working with Gallo?!” John demanded, wanting to hear her admit it. He’d gotten used to thinking of her as an ally, someone who popped up at just the right times in the most impossible situations to assist them. But apparently all along she’d just been—

“Of course!” Sherlock suddenly exclaimed. “What an idiot I’ve been!” Daisy quirked an eyebrow like she agreed. “You’re being held captive by him.”

“You’re just now figuring that out?” Daisy replied scornfully, and Sherlock looked mildly abashed.

“You told me right at the beginning, and I just didn’t see it,” he chided himself in frustration.

John raised a finger in confusion. “Um, excuse me, could someone explain what’s going on? How can you be Gallo’s prisoner? We’ve seen you all over Europe.”

Daisy sighed as if explanation were hopeless and draped herself over one of her couches. “She’s a sibyl,” Sherlock replied distractedly.

“Sorry, a what?”

“A sibyl, an ancient prophetess,” he spat, as though John’s question annoyed him.

“Prophetess?” John repeated dubiously. “As in, one who makes prophecies?” It was a poor time for a joke and Sherlock’s sense of humor wasn’t well-developed anyway; but John felt like his logic circuits had been overloaded and wasn’t sure how to handle it. “Oh,” he finally said, in a defeated tone.

Daisy smiled kindly and gestured for him to sit. Sherlock was busy pacing on the other side of the room, muttering to himself, so John accepted her offer. “Let’s just say that I’m someone who gives excellent advice,” she suggested, managing not to sound patronizing. “And there are clever, resourceful people in the world who would like to have my advice all to themselves.” John nodded mutely; he could go with that.

“How long have you been Gallo’s prisoner?” Sherlock interrupted suddenly.

“Three years, seven months,” Daisy replied precisely.

“Since just before the Brandenburg bombing,” he realized.

“Yes, his reign of terror has increased markedly since then,” Daisy agreed distastefully. She turned back to John. “There are… _ways_ to ensure that I will stay with someone and advise them,” she went on, and he had the feeling she was leaving a whole lot out. “Even against my will, though without the need for locks and chains. After that, the rules are very complex, but it comes down to a game—a game of wits, and will.”

“How close are you to leaving him?” Sherlock wanted to know.

Daisy’s look was not hopeful. “He rarely asks for my advice,” she admitted. “He’s clever. You see,” she added to John, who really didn’t, “if he doesn’t follow my advice, his hold over me weakens. If he ignores it often enough, he’ll have no power over me at all, and I’ll be free.”

“Okay, okay,” John agreed, trying hard to grasp the murky situation around him. “Why wouldn’t he _always_ follow your advice, then?” he asked. “Seems a bit foolish not to.”

Daisy smiled as though he were finally catching on. “Well, I don’t have to tell him the truth,” she added slyly.

“Ah, I see,” John said, very slowly. “So you could give him bad advice. If he follows it, he’ll fail in his plans, but if he doesn’t follow it, he risks losing you.”

“Exactly,” Daisy agreed, satisfied with his understanding. “But the problem is,” she sighed, “lying weakens _me_. The best scenario is, I give good advice, but he doesn’t take it. I stay strong and his hold weakens. If I lie and he doesn’t follow me, we sort of cancel each other out.”

“And if you lie but he does what you say—“ suggested John.

“He might be worse off in some way, but he still has _me_ ,” Daisy admitted. “The best I can hope for is that he becomes so miserable he releases me of his own accord. But as I said, Gallo’s clever,” she added. “If he doesn’t _know_ of my advice, it counts for nothing. He’s forbidden me to advise him unasked, and he only asks about certain things. Probably the best way to go about it, really.”

“The _best_ way is to get a sibyl to give you her advice freely, with no coercion,” Sherlock corrected unexpectedly, his tone disgusted.

Daisy smiled fondly. “Yes, that’s the best way,” she agreed.

John waited a moment to see if anything else was forthcoming. When it seemed it wasn’t, he prompted, “Well, perhaps we should focus on getting out of here. Er, if you don’t mind suggesting how,” he added quickly to Daisy, unsure of how exactly he was supposed to phrase things to show the respect Gallo lacked.

She seemed to appreciate the effort. “Well, I think I can get you back up to the surface,” she decided. “I’ve been cultivating some of Gallo’s followers to sabotage his plans. Officially they’re not supposed to talk to me, but…”

“You have your ways,” Sherlock noted knowingly.

**

So Gallo was in police custody at last, and his last scheme had been defused—literally. The post-case euphoria was still carrying John along as he sketched the outline for his blog entry, wanting to get all the details down before he decided what to excise. Sherlock, per usual, had been erratic, absent most days only to return loudly in the middle of the night. John was not looking forward to the moment when he crashed.

He was still keyed up when there was a knock on their door, though, springing to his feet like a meerkat catching a predator’s scent. He made no move to actually open the door, though, so John did.

Daisy stood on the other side, in a posh suit and traveling hat. Sherlock blinked at her. “It’s done, then,” he stated, and turned his back to switch on the TV.

John invited her in. “Haven’t seen you in a while, I wondered what happened,” he told her. “Would you like some tea, or—“

“— _Gallo was killed in an apparent hit today_ ,” the news announcer on TV was saying, and John stopped and turned with wide eyes. “ _Police suspect a professional crime organization may be behind the assassination of the man who_ —“ Sherlock muted the TV just as John was hoping for clarity and turned back to Daisy.

“You’re going to America,” he observed of her, magically it seemed. “The southern part, but not _too_ far south.”

She smiled. “I appreciate your help,” she told them, encompassing John in the sentiment.

“Um, so, now that Gallo’s dead, I guess—you’re free of him?” John suggested, still trying to take in the sudden news.

“Yes of course,” Sherlock snapped bluntly.

“That’s correct,” Daisy replied more politely. “I can do whatever I like now. It might have been difficult, with him in prison,” she went on, her words seeming to convey more than the literal meaning. “I would’ve had to find a way to free him, I’m sure.”

“Well,” Sherlock replied. There was a pause, then he seemed to feel that was enough and walked into the kitchen.

“Gallo had made deals with certain other criminals to obtain some of his supplies,” Daisy explained to John.

“And they killed him so he couldn’t implicate them as well?” John guessed. For some reason he didn’t think this was the whole story. “I wonder how they knew where to find him, no one knew he was being held at Hunsdon except—“ He stopped himself thoughtfully.

“Quite a lot of people, really,” Daisy pointed out. “At least two dozen who knew for sure, and dozens more who could have figured it out.”

“Your cab’s waiting,” Sherlock called impatiently from the kitchen. “You’ll miss your boat.”

“Oh, are you taking a boat?” John inquired helplessly.

Daisy smiled enigmatically. “It was nice to meet you, Dr. Watson,” she said, then turned and walked out the door.


End file.
